The train station clock read 15:47 when Y/N stepped off the platform, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, the weight of the Germanium ring a familiar pressure against their finger.

No alarms. No sirens. No government-issued tracking vans masquerading as delivery trucks.

Just the hum of vending machines, the distant chatter of students in uniforms, and the smell of konbini curry drifting from across the street.

Y/N turned.

A girl with short, choppy brown hair and a PK Academy uniform was jogging toward them, holding up a crumpled train ticket that must have fallen from Y/N's pocket.